Open wounds in the palms of my hands, festering through infectious time. I feel so faint as my life spills over you. Backstep over glass as I repent. I fear I cannot prevent myself from spilling your life all over me. I`m so sick, so sick of myself. Mother, say you`ll pray for me. I`m premature in my decay. Shards of glass swimming in my eyes. A small voice in the back of my mind that`s whispering words I never want to hear. I pray that you won`t hesitate, as you watch me degenerate, to reach in my wounds and extract all of my fear. My suffocation, asphyxiation. I`ve been choking on my own blood.
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